


Stone Heart

by HastaLux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Building a Boyfriend, M/M, Magical Realism, Pygmalion AU, Sculptor Mycroft, Statue Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 05:10:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18190190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HastaLux/pseuds/HastaLux
Summary: Mycroft is a sculptor who creates a beautiful statue of a man. He might even be a little in love with the figure... in love enough to make a wish that he might fall in love with a man like the statue.So... where did his statue go and who is the man in his kitchen, making him breakfast?





	Stone Heart

**Author's Note:**

> From a Twitter #mystradestorytime thread.

Mycroft enjoys working slow. It’s a benefit of isolating himself so much that he has the time to do so, steadily uncovering his sculptures from the rock concealing them without any interruptions. People are a distraction. His agent and family have long since given up on forcing him to be more sociable. Even his brother has found someone for himself, someone that tolerates his eccentricities and experiments. Mycroft doesn’t like people, let alone dating. What’s the point when he has his work?

He can already tell this one is special, however. It’s not a commission, not a paid project by any museum. This one is just for him. The light plays across it as he works steadily on the face, unveiling the eyes, the hair. He’s perfect. But of course he’s perfect. He’s made of stone.

The gray strands in the stone seem to coalesce in the hair, like they have always intended to be there. Mycroft thinks they have, in their way. Stone wants to let its true shape out. It’s not like painting, where the artist can force it. Stone simply is.“Grey hair… dark eyes. You’re handsome,” he murmurs as he smooths the statue’s jaw, caressing it into the proper curve. By the time he starts work on the broad chest and shoulders, he’s taken to leaving the tv on in the background. Sports. He’s not sure why. Sports simply feel like something the stone might enjoy. Something to look at while Mycroft works. He knows those marbled eyes cannot see it, but then again no one else will either. It doesn’t hurt to indulge a whim.

The hands must be done carefully. One is raking through the statue’s hair, ruffling it. The other is extended, almost asking for something. He feels very classical, Mycroft’s statue. Like David. But David isn’t the right name for this one.

He takes up talking to the statue as he works, which is unusual. He hasn’t much talked to his works before. But this one is special. “You have to have a name, you know. I must have something to call you.”

The tv helps. When he chisels off a large piece from the base, freeing the lines that will become legs, it hits the ground with enough force that the channel changes. The Paradine Case, starring Gregory Peck, flickers to the screen. “Gregory. That’s lovely, isn’t it? I think it suits you. Do you like courtroom dramas, Gregory? I suppose you might be a man of law and order.” There is a certain authority about him. A certain confidence. “Hmm. A detective, perhaps. Not a lawyer.” He likes to think the stone agrees with him. And if it’s odd that he takes to watching old movies at night, two glasses of wine set on the table with his chair dragged over so he can rest his cheek on a cold marble hand, well. No one is there to watch.

As Gregory solidifies, Mycroft becomes increasingly despondent. He sleeps in the studio. Even his bed in the next room is too far. He never leaves. What is he meant to do when Gregory requires no further work? Shall he rest in a corner gathering dust with his statue? It might be a breakdown, Mycroft realizes when he admits to himself that his feelings for Gregory are not… normal. He wants the statue in his bed, not on a pedestal. He wants to hold Gregory’s hand and feel warmth returned.

The statue is nearly complete when Mycroft has to make one of his rare ventures out of the studio for a few grocery items he cannot seem to have delivered. There’s a little park on the way, with a stone circle at the edge he’s never noticed before marked “Wishing Well.” The well is dark, but there is a faint glitter at the bottom of wishes past. He smiles as he pulls a coin from his pocket and tosses it in. “I wish for a man like Gregory. A man of flesh and blood. I love him, but… I cannot love a statue. Please. Send me a man.”

Nothing has changed when he goes to bed, wrapped in a comforter on the floor of his studio. But when he awakes, he can smell bacon. And Gregory is gone. The studio is empty. He stumbles to the kitchen, a sheet draped over him.

There’s a man there. A naked man. A Gregory-shaped man. Mycroft blinks at him as he turns. “Hi love. How many eggs are you up for?” Mycroft backs up, walking in a daze until he finds his phone. He should call someone. Mycroft is obviously having a breakdown. Only… if this is a breakdown, breakfast would probably not be real. He creeps back down the hall and stares into the kitchen again. The food smells like food. Sounds like food on the stove. Eggs frying, bacon resting, a bit of cheese on the side waiting to be cut. Cautiously, he steps in and has a seat. “Eggs?” Gregory repeats, smiling at him easily. His eyes are even darker than Mycroft had thought, but the hair is perfect silver.

“Two?” he answers, unable to stop staring.

“Coming right up.”

“You’re, um. Here?”

He must sound like an idiot, but Gregory doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, m’here, gorgeous. Toast?” Mycroft nods. The food before him is extremely good for being cooked by a man who was until last night purportedly made of marble.

“How are you here?” he asks.

Gregory strides over, his fingers cupping Mycroft’s jaw. They’re warm. Oh, so warm. “Does it matter?” Mycroft swallows and shakes his head. No. No, it really doesn’t.Gregory lifts Mycroft knuckles to his mouth and kisses them, eyes glittering. His lips are soft and plush enough to make Mycroft blush. Gregory smiles. “S’alright if I stay, then?”

“Yes,” Mycroft answers without thinking. “Of course. Please.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Gregory murmurs back. Mycroft cannot think of anything he’d like more.


End file.
